


The Model-Ship Type

by Anarchyinplasma



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26834434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarchyinplasma/pseuds/Anarchyinplasma
Summary: Months after the end of the Reaper War, war heroes Commander Shepard and Garrus Vakarian take advantage of the time they have left before the Normandy leaves on it's victory tour.
Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian, Liara T'Soni/Ashley Williams
Comments: 14
Kudos: 29





	1. Model-Ships and Take-Aways

**Author's Note:**

> So I fell absolutely in love with the Citadel DLC and this spawned. I'm thinking it might be multiple parts so hopefully I can keep to that, if not, it can absolutely be read as a stand-alone.

“You know Shepard, the first time I met you I wouldn’t have pegged you as the model ship type, but nowadays I can’t imagine you without them.”  
“What kind of person did you have me pegged as Garrus?” It’s a somewhat teasing response he thinks, but he’s not completely sure, even after all these years his ability to read human voices isn’t completely perfect, though thankfully his ability to read Shepard is impeccable.  
“Oh you know… confident, sexy, the kind of woman who prefers a firing range over a model shop. I have to say I was rather shocked the first time I saw them in your cabin.” Shepard laughs and carefully moves her feet up to allow him to sit down before moving them onto his lap once he’s settled.  
“You’re lucky I’m wooed by flattery Vakarian.”

He gives her a laugh at that.  
“I’d like to think I know all the ways to woo you by now Shepard.”  
“I’d hope so; I didn’t marry you for your looks.” She shoots him a brief wry grin over the model sky-car she’s working on; the first of many boxes of models piled on the floor next to the settee they’re relaxing on. They’d been a gift from him when they moved back into Anderson’s old Citadel apartment once the repairs on the station were complete and Shepard was officially discharged from the hospital to finish recovering at home. She’d needed something to occupy herself with when she wasn’t allowed to exercise too strenuously and Garrus was nothing if not happy to oblige his bondmate.

He takes the time to study and commit to memory Shepard and her adorable hobbyist setup, a tray on her lap and little parts dishes filled with tiny screws and metal panels. She’s working on the seats right now, ever so carefully bolting them into place in the tiny interior with bolts no bigger than the tip of his talon. The logo on the side panel of the car catches his eye and his mandibles flutter in a Turian grin.  
“Guess what kind of skycar you’re building there.” He points to the logo in question and she gives a groan.  
“Am I ever going to be allowed to forget that day?” Garrus shakes his head with an amused purr emitting from his syrinx.  
“Shame about what you did to those fish tanks, even now they’re rebuilt I’ll never be allowed to take you back there, you’re a damn menace Shepard.” She huffs a sigh at him.  
“You’re supposed to be nice to me Vakarian, I’m still walking wounded here.”  
“Technically you’re a bit more like lounging wounded.” He responds; prodding a socked foot with a talon to emphasise his point.

A skycar bearing C-sec colours whizzes past outside and Shepard sticks her tongue out at him.  
“I saved the galaxy three times, I’m entitled to some relaxation.”  
“Relaxation certainly,” he purrs with a mandible flutter and a laugh, “but I don’t have to be nice to you.”  
“And how many times do I need to save the galaxy for my bondmate to be nice to me?” Comes the question while she tightens a miniature steering rack into place and gets started on the bodywork.  
“Seven I think.” Garrus makes a show of pretending to check his omnitool. “Yes here we are, promotional deal. Three times for relaxation, five for a set of steak knives, seven for your bondmate to be nice to you, and if you go to ten you’re entitled to all of the above and you get to marry the Primarch of Palaven instead of some lowly Reaper advisor.”  
“That joke only works if you’re not so high on the line of succession that Councillor Sparatus salutes you as ‘sir’ every time we see him Garrus.” Shepard points out with a smile. “And as nice as Victus is, I think he prefers his own bondmate.”

“Damn.” Garrus mutters as Shepard finishes with the frame and attaches the underside of the panel. “I was hoping you’d have forgotten about that.” Shepard gives an undignified snort of laughter.  
“I have to save the galaxy another seven times before you’re named Primarch of Palaven apparently so you’re safe.”  
“That’s a cast iron case for retirement right there.” Garrus nods. “No more saving the galaxy, we can buy our own steak knives and I’m quite happy as an entirely ceremonial advisor to a completely defeated threat.”  
“I don’t know…” Shepard lets the words hang in the air as she fiddles with the delicate three-way hinge of the door and canopy. “What if I want you to be nice to me Vakarian? Might end up with some steak knives on the way.”

She finishes the little skycar and inspects it; perfectly put together and up to her usual standards. She hands it off to Garrus and he places it carefully on the table, handing her the next box, a Kodiak shuttle.  
“I’m sure I can manage being nice to you to save my retirement Shepard. Unless you’re just so bored already that you want to run off and save the galaxy again.”  
“You act like you wouldn’t be right there with me.” she mutters, shootig him a wry look as she starts knolling all the tiny parts of her Kodiak kit up and starting to assemble the forward section.  
“Of course I would be.” Garrus says with a brief mandible flutter, subharmonics infusing his voice with pride and love that he couldn’t hide even if he wanted to. “No Shepard without Vakarian.”

Shepard sets the completed front of the shuttle down and starts on the back.  
“I could have done it without you.” She says with a cocky grin; carefully tightening a miniscule screw to create the pivot mechanics for the thrusters.  
“Of course you could.” Garrus placates her with a condescending pat on the leg resting across his lap. “Just, you know, not-”  
“-not as stylishly, of course.” Shepard finishes with him, shit-eating grin covering her face as he looks at her with amusement.  
“Exactly Shepard,” he croons at her, “I’m here to bring the style.”  
“Evidently not in clothing.” She fires back lightning fast. “Otherwise I’d have invited your sister to come and stop Saren with me.”

“Ouch.” he brings a talon up to his heart in mock hurt. “I’ll have you know that Sol actually gave me this jacket as a present.”  
“No she didn’t.” Shepard snorts with laughter again. “I was there when you bought it.”  
“Just testing your memory.” Garrus fires back cheekily. “I’ve only just gotten you home from the hospital after-all. The doctors need me to monitor any changes in your condition.”  
“The only change in my condition you’re likely to witness any time soon is my becoming a widow if you keep giving me lip, Vakarian.” Shepard mutters as she slots the shuttle panels together and tests the strange multi-way sliding hinge on the door before handing it off with a satisfied nod.  
“Duly noted.” Garrus says with humour lacing his words; accepting the shuttle model from her and dutifully transferring it to the growing pile on the coffee table as he decides what box to hand her next.

He eventually selects a larger box than the previous two and hands it off. He trills happily as Shepard’s face lights up with a grin at the prospect of another Normandy SR1.

That build takes her a lot longer than the rest, and she’s only half-way done with the thrusters and the awkwardly angled connectors in the wings that double as thermal dampers when Garrus gently shuffles her feet off his lap to go and fix them some dinner.

He gets halfway through rifling through the cupboards for something to cook before he remembers that he has no idea how to cook levo food, and he’s busy looking for dextro food when he remembers that he can’t cook that either.  
“Shepard!” He calls through to the sitting room.  
“On the noteboard, I’m in the mood for Chinese!” she calls back before he can even say the words “what do you want for dinner, and where are the numbers for said takeout?”

He dials the takeaway place from his omnitool and they pick up immediately.  
“Gilded-Azure-Dragon Takeaway.” comes the bored voice of the Quarian on desk duty. “Oh hey Mr Vakarian, the usual?”  
“If you’d be so kind.” Garrus says, voice laced with sardonic humour as he wonders what it says about the two of them that they have a usual order with every single takeaway on the Citadel that delivers to their area.  
“Be with you soon.” The Quarian says and hangs up. It’s still quite odd to see them without masks, Garrus thinks, but Shepard’s near-miraculous ending of the three century long stalemate that followed the Morning War in a peace had brought both Quarians and geth back to the galactic community in a pretty big way.

When Garrus makes his way back into the sitting room Shepard is unsurprisingly still struggling with the SR1’s fiddly little engine baffles.  
“Food is on it’s way.” Garrus tells, resting his forehead on hers for a minute before he sits back down and lifts Shepard’s legs back into his lap.  
“Just bought the usual?” Shepard asks him distractedly, attention fully focussed on the tiny pins she’s using to connect all the pieces of the SR1’s thruster guards.  
“Just the usual.” Garrus confirms, fiddling with a loose thread on Shepard’s socks.  
“Stop that.” She flexes her toes to get rid of his prying fingers. “They’ll unravel if you pick at them.”  
“Are we sure that’s the reason?” Garrus purrs at her, talon stroking ever so gently at the sole of her foot exactly where he knows she’s exceptionally ticklish. The reaction is automatic, Shepard squeaks and yanks her foot away, rocking the tray and narrowly avoiding spilling her half completed SR1 and it’s parts onto the carpet.  
“Garrus.” She says in a deathly quiet voice. “If you make me spill all of these parts so help me God and the Spirits you will not live to enjoy your retirement.” The response she gets is a quiet squeak of terror from his sub-vocals and an almost comical gulp of terror before he meekly guides her foot back into his lap.

Shepard is just returning the aft half of the completed SR1 to her tray when the door-bell rings and the voice of an Asari delivery girl emerges from their intercom.  
“Your delivery Legatus and Commander.”  
“You don’t need to call us by our ranks, Thaysia!” Shepard calls through the door as she puts her tray carefully aside and ambles over to the intercom to buzz the girl in.  
“Sorry Commander; force of habit.”  
“It’s fine.” Shepard says as she takes the bags the girl is handing her and walks off to set them down in the kitchen. “But if we’re allowed to call you by your first name then you really don’t need to keep being so formal with us.”

“Ignore her.” Garrus whispers as he pays the girl. “Commander is practically her first name at this point.”  
“I can still hear you Garrus!” Shepard shouts from where she’s unpacking their food. “Whispering doesn’t help against someone with more implants than you have scars!”  
“Sorry Shepard!” he calls back. Rolling his eyes at Thaysia in a decidedly human gesture as his sub-vocals broadcast amusement. “Seriously, Shepard and Vakarian is fine, I hate being called Legatus.”  
“Officer Vakarian and Commander Shepard it is then.” The former Asari commando says, accepting her credits with a thankful smile and putting them away as Shepard comes back to the door with a small box in hand.

“Here’s your usual.” Shepard tells her, handing her a box full of some of the food they’d just ordered.  
“Thanks Commander, have a great night.” Thaysia walks away humming happily to herself as she devours the tasty extra wontons that they always give her instead of a cash tip. This, she thinks, is easily the best delivery route she gets to walk.

Five minutes later finds the two of them cuddled up on the settee sharing a levo/dextro combo meal.  
“I wish I could try some of that Shepard, they look pretty good.”  
“Hm?” Shepard looks up at Garrus’ question and gestures with the food in her hand. “You want to try this?”  
“I wish I could try it.” Garrus corrects. “What is it? It looks like fried avicula.”  
“It's a duck.” Shepard replies. “Or it was anyway.” She takes another bite and pulls up a picture of a duck on her omni-tool to show Garrus.

“Looks tasty, I should find a dextro variant.”  
“Just try some of mine.” Shepard holds it out to him. “You’ll not get anything from it but you can taste it, you’re not levo allergic.”  
“True.” Garrus leans forwards and takes a small bite of Shepard’s food. He tears a chunk off and tastes it on the back of his tongue for a second before his eyes widen and his mandibles spread in surprise. “Damn that’s pretty good. I wish I could eat it.”  
“This is why Chinese takeaway is just the best.”

Garrus’ head cocks to the side as Shepard takes another bite of her food.  
“I don’t know about the best, this is pretty damn good too.” He holds up his own food for her to take a taste of.  
“What is it?” Shepard asks as she takes a small bite off the end of the roll.  
“Carnis inclusium in lardum,” Garrus recites promptly, “since we’re carnivores we don’t tend to wrap things like you do.” He points at a wonton on her plate to showcase his point. “So it’s dried strips of grilled meat wrapped around a tube of cooked and really soft meat.”

Shepard’s eyes light up in wonder as her teeth puncture the crispy shelling and find the soft and almost toffee-like centre that tastes like perfectly cooked chicken.  
“God damn Garrus.” She whispers in awe. “Why aren’t there more Turian chefs.” He has to laugh at that.  
“It’s not really an honourable civil service profession to become some gourmet chef, and joining up at 15 we sort of develop a taste for MREs.” Shepard makes a sympathetic face; she tried a Turian MRE once and it left her retching.  
“Try one of these.” She holds up one of the wontons he’d pointed out earlier.  
“I don’t really know how I’m supposed to eat that.” Garrus says, looking at it curiously.  
“Huh?” Shepard looks utterly confused until Garrus points at his teeth in explanation. “Oh yeah you don’t really have molars.” She pops the food in her mouth instead.

“You know it’s a damn shame we can’t even order take-out from that amazing sushi place with the fish-tanks in the floor.”  
“Garrus. I swear to God.”  
“Oh come on, we had a good time in the end.” Shepard rolls her eyes.  
“Oh yeah we had an amazing time amongst all the gunfire, and the combat, and the stealing of my ship and identity…” she trails off, sounding wistful. “Damn that actually was kinda fun. We are a weird couple.”

Garrus’ mandibles flutter like wild as he throws his head back in deep laughter.  
“Ha! We should recreate the event after the first leg of our victory tour on the Normandy,” he gasps between bouts of laughter, “contact some Cerberus defectors and tell them where we left the keys and how much of a head-start we’re giving them.” Shepard can’t resist his infectious laughs and joins in with the mirth.  
“We should give them a script, then I get to hear ‘lucky for you Archangel is your boyfriend’ at least once more.”  
“We could never recreate all that banter in the archives though Shepard. Imagine trying to get Wrex to follow a script.” Garrus snickers at the thought and his mandibles move so fast they’re almost flickering.  
“I’d be amazed if Wrex could read a script.” Shepard dead-pans. Then she becomes somewhat sober as a thought abruptly occurs.

“We still have time now while Normandy is docked for touch-ups before the tour, why don’t we throw another party?”  
“That’s not a bad idea Shepard.” Her bondmate muses as he finishes off the last of his dinner.  
“Shall we then? Skip straight to the gathering and the drinking instead of having to defeat enough mercenaries to depopulate an entire arm of the Citadel first.” Garrus picks up her empty containers for her and takes the rubbish into the kitchen.  
“Do we have to skip the mercs Shepard? It could be our honeymoon.” He drops the waste in the bin and walks back over, leaning down beside Shepard’s ear for maximum effect. “Lucky for you, Archangel is your bondmate.”

Shepard can’t suppress the shiver that runs down her spine at that.  
“I’m afraid that entering into an all-out war with a mercenary group might be a little bit more than the Citadel can handle right now.” She says, lips twisted in a humorous display of contrite resignation. “But we could always take everyone out for a nice dinner.” she stops at the mental image of Grunt and/or Wrex sitting in a high-class Citadel restaurant. “The more well-behaved ones at any rate.” Garrus opens his mouth and Shepard’s head snaps towards him. “If you so much as mention sushi.” She leaves the threat to hang unspoken in the air for a moment. “I will serve grilled Archangel as the main course.” Garrus’ mouth and mandibles snap shut with an audible ‘click’ and Shepard reaches up and pats him on the head. “Good Turian.” The glare that she gets in return is absolutely worth it.

After a few seconds Garrus' expression softens and he takes her in his arms.  
“So do you think you’ll be able to get all of these,” he gestures around at the myriad boxes of small ship models still piled near the settee, “finished in time for the tour start? Because I love you Shepard but I’m not sure even you can manage that.”  
“You know me Garrus, I am always up for a good challenge.”  
“I’ll leave you to it then.” He leans forward and nuzzles a mandible against her forehead ever so briefly before heading up the stairs to their still-new Turian bed. Shepard meanwhile looks at the mountain of boxes in front of her with a grin, cracks her knuckles, and gets right to work.

When Garrus stumbles downstairs bleary-eyed and ready for breakfast the next morning he finds a fleet massing in his living room.

The apartment is covered in model ships, all three variants of the Normandy line the kitchen table, the Tokyo, Shepard’s prior ship, sitting proudly behind them. Alliance and Turian ships that run the gamut from in-atmosphere fighters to Flagship-of-the-Line Dreadnoughts are arranged by class from one end of the long kitchen workbench to the other, there’s what he assumes was one of the mystery contributions he’d received from Liara and Tali in unmarked boxes sitting on one of the settees in the form of the Shadow-Broker’s ship along with a model of the Destiny Ascension that verges on being obnoxiously large; sitting on the coffee table next to a Mass Relay is a specific Turian-style Dreadnought that Garrus thinks he recognizes as the Volus produced Kwunu.

Sitting around the room in various places are all sorts of Quarian vessels he can’t even name the classifications of, as well as something that he recognizes as the one-and-a-bit kilometre long Geth Dreadnought that they destroyed over Rannoch during the war along with several Reapers. He recognises Sovereign and Harbinger among a few more generic counterparts in various poses.

That’s not even the end of it, he realises with a start, making his way through the apartment, following the sound of Shepard’s vague singing to find her sitting in the middle of a hoard of fighters, shuttles, sky-cars, and a few small attack craft he doesn’t even know the names of.

Shepard looks up at his approach with a grin.  
“Morning Garrus.” She chirps, far too brightly for someone who has by all appearances been up for twenty six hours by this point, amassing a fleet that would most likely have caused the Reapers to flee screaming into the void in abject terror.

"Spirits Shepard you’ve broken the Treaty of Farixen.” Garrus breathes in awe. He takes a closer look at what she’s working on and sees that it’s a model of the Citadel with three of five arms already attached and spinning slowly in place as she holds it up by the Presidium Ring and locks in the last two.

“You bought me them.” she shrugs, tinkering with the miniature electro-magnets spinning the arms to get them to move a touch slower.  
“I thought you’d go through them slowly, three or four a day at most.” Garrus replies in a whisper, scared to move in case he crushes a model or knocks one off a precarious perch.  
“I like a challenge Vakarian, what can I say? Although I’m not quite finished.” Shepard sets the Citadel down and points to some boxes sitting in a corner. “But those are the big one-day projects. So I’ll start on them tomorrow.”  
“There are bigger projects than this?” Garrus asks in pure disbelief, and Shepard nods seriously.  
“Oh yeah, notice they’re all unmarked? I had a peek inside and they’re custom from some of our friends. There’s the Crucible, Arcturus Station, a lot of the bigger stuff.” She stands to show off her Citadel to him, but sways on her feet, body not quite ready for this level of activity after twenty six hours awake given she’d just spent months in a hospital bed.

“Shepard.” Garrus catches her shoulders and prevents her from falling. “I think we need to put all of these away and then go back to bed.  
“That-” Shepard yawns deeply and then continues “is an excellent idea Garrus. What would I do without you?”  
“I dread to think.” Garrus mutters, casting a somewhat worried look at the plethora of model ships that surround them.

They spend almost two hours lining the apartment walls with extra modular glass cases and filling them up with Shepard's miniature grand fleet. But eventually they finish, and despite his gnawing hunger for breakfast Garrus finds himself dragged into bed and Shepard curling up around him like an unusually cuddly boa constrictor.  
“Garrus.” Shepard mutters into his jaw just before they fall asleep. “Don’t let me forget tomorrow, party.” Garrus nods, kisses her goodnight, and lays there wondering how he's possibly supposed to get up and eat his breakfast in this situation.


	2. Decorations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the massing of the (model) fleets. Shepard and Garrus get some news and make some plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is okay, I'm genuinely worried about this chapter but I have no beta and no-one to bounce ideas off of so all I can really do is try to make it as good as I know how and pray it isn't too exposition/dialogue heavy. I wanted to get creative with some of the things since there was nothing I could find on them in game and I hope it was the right choice. C&C incredibly welcome.

Shepard yawns and stretches, opening her eyes the tiniest crack before slamming them shut and rolling into Garrus’ side as light floods her senses.  
“Garrus?” she mumbles, confused. “Why is it so bright? Turn off the sun for me.” She waits for the familiar response to come, the joke about recalibrating the sun. But it never does. Shepard cracks open her eyes slowly and lets them adjust, seeing Garrus sleeping soundly, half trapped underneath her. His mandibles flutter with his smooth, even breaths and she takes a moment to memorise the sight. It’s so rare for her to be up before him, the combination of Turian sleep patterns and sniper training means he sleeps very little and very lightly; she’s never been able to see him sleeping so peacefully before.

Careful not to disturb him, she chances a glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table and balks at the time it shows her. How did she manage to sleep until mid-day? Waking up before 5am for an Alliance workout was hardwired into her brain so deeply the neural pathways would probably be visible at her eventual (second) post-mortem.  
“That is a weird thought.” she mutters to herself, ever-so-carefully extricating herself from her bondmate’s arms and rocking back on her haunches to sit up and stretch properly.

A tiny buzzing comes from the omni-tool implant in her arm and Shepard opens it quickly, dimming the brightness so as not to alert her sleeping Turian and climbing out of bed carefully. Ashley’s face appears over her forearm as she pads down the stairs and into the kitchen.  
“Afternoon Shepard.” She says by way of greeting, then she pauses, eyes scrutinizing the mess of red hair spiked every which way and the sleep-laden eyes. “You look like you just rolled out of bed Commander.”  
“I did.” Shepard grunts as she yanks the fridge open, pulls out the milk and sets it on the counter.  
“Late night?” Ashley guesses and Shepard gives a tired nod.  
“Was finishing off my model collection.” She feels around for a minute before finding the switch and flicking the kettle on, then steps into the front room and pans the camera around her freshly filled display cases to show Ashley her progress.  
“You did all of these in one night? Damn Shepard; that amount should have kept you going until the victory tour ended.”  
“Garrus said the same thing.” Shepard yawns. “So what can I do for you Ash?”

There’s a scuffle behind Ashley and she mutes for a second, talking to someone off-screen. Shepard’s waits patiently, making her cup of tea while she waits for Ashley to get back to her and stop trying to hide the evidence of a hook-up that’s far more obvious than she evidently thinks it is.  
“Ash, if it’s getting in the way of round two I don’t mind you calling back later, you’re on post-war shore-leave, take care of your ‘guest’.” She takes a sip of nice hot tea as Ashley turns scarlet on screen, and then a blue hand sticks in frame and waves to her.  
“Hello Shepard.” Liara’s voice comes through loud and clear as the mute icon disappears and Ashley gives up on any semblance of secrecy.  
“Hello Liara.” Shepard doesn’t bother to hide the shit-eating grin on her face as Ashley continues to turn more and more red. “I trust Spectre Williams isn’t neglecting you in order to pass along some message to me.”  
“Not at all Shepard, she’s been so wonderfully accommodating already.” Liara’s tone is full of suggestion and Shepard takes another sip of tea while Ashley’s head goes into her hands. After a few seconds enjoying her friend’s embarrassment she decides to throw her a line.  
“”So why did you call me Ash?”

Her fellow human Spectre gives a distinct cough and Shepard can physically see the wheels in her head turning as she tries to compose herself.  
“They’re delaying the start of the tour by a day or two, big formal dinner has been set up for all the Normandy crew, Admiral Hackett presiding; so we thought you’d like some warning on that. But some of us were wondering if we should try and recreate our previous shore leave to ease the tension of a big event a bit.”  
“You mean, clone, identity theft, gunfights, broken glass, etc?” Shepard raises a bemused eyebrow and has to bite the inside of her cheek to maintain the effect as she hears Liara start giggling hysterically in the background. “I was hoping to be done with that sort of thing for now.”  
“More the party, meet-up, celebration thing, you know, after the nice dinner.”  
“Honestly, you read my mind on that Ash.” Shepard drains the last of her tea and starts rifling through the cupboards to see if Garrus had the foresight to buy any cereal she can eat. “But first tell me about this dinner. Fancy place? I’m assuming dress uniforms and such?”

“Very much so, I’ll forward you the details.” Liara says. “Thank you Shepard, I’m very sorry we interrupted your sleep. Don’t worry, I’ll see to it that Spectre Williams is suitably punished for her actions.  
“That is way more information than I could ever possibly need or want Liara.” Shepard dead-pans; closing the call promptly and finally spotting a box of cereal she can eat.

She’s busy munching on a box of levo Blast-Oh!’s lightly sprinkled with some indulgent sugar in a quiet celebration of her post-war freedom when Garrus stumbles into the kitchen bleary-eyed and still half asleep.  
“Good morning my bondmate.” she leans over and presses a kiss to his mandible as he sits down heavily at the table. The grumble she gets in response doesn’t pass through her translator it’s so slurred by tiredness.  
“Salve, amica mea, quid ad prandium?”  
“Something about breakfast?” She asks, perplexed.  
“Something like that.” He rumbles, subharmonics muddled like a cat with a cold trying to purr.  
“You seem more tired than usual Garrus.” Shepard observes, rooting around in a drawer for a Turian-friendly spoon to hand him as he searches for a bowl and his own breakfast cereal.  
“Blame your model obsession.” He grunts.

They eat breakfast in companionable silence, trading banter and subtle touches until Shepard just leans her head on Garrus’ shoulder with a pleased hum.  
“Ashley called.” She says, cuddling into Garrus’ side a bit more, not caring in the least that she’s making it harder for him to eat.  
“About what?”  
“They pushed back the date for the victory tour by a few days, she and Liara called to say we’re required at a big fancy alliance-bankrolled Normandy dinner.”

“I think you asked me to remind you about something like that last night.” Garrus mumbles around mouthfuls. “And Liara? What was she doing there.”  
“Oh they’re hooking up apparently.” Shepard says it with such nonchalance that it takes a couple of seconds for Garrus’ brain to parse the words she used and what they mean. He pauses with his next mouthful halfway to his mouth and looks at her with such an expression of outright confusion on his face that Shepard can’t help but laugh at how cute a desperately confused Turian looks, mandibles hanging wide open and subharmonics buzzing a consistent tone that a human might associate with a very surprised ‘huh?!’.

As if on cue, a message notification from Liara buzzes in her implant and Shepard pulls up her omni-tool.  
“Here we are.” She says, showing Garrus the extra-net site that Liara had provided. “Fancy dinner for every member of the crew capable of behaving in polite society.”  
“Hmm, be a bit awkward without you there Shepard.” Garrus snarks as he recovers from his confusion. “But might be nice to go somewhere posh without you ranting at whoever is in charge for once.”  
“Laugh it up Vakarian.” Shepard grumbles. “I am perfectly capable of conducting myself in polite society.”  
“I’m sure.” Garrus replies. Humming with blatant amusement. “So, I need to clean up my dress armour?”  
“You don’t have a dress uniform?” Shepard queries. “Like I have my dress blues?”  
“I’m a Turian Shepard, we don’t have non-armour military dress. If you’re out of armour you’re either off-duty or dead.”  
“Right.” she mutters. “I hope the restaurant has sturdy chairs.”

After a back-and-forth with Ashley, Liara, and everyone else who will be attending, they make plans for the dinner, dress uniforms required from all members no matter the species or actual military rank. Those without military dress would be expected to wear white-tie equivalents.  
“This is a fancy damn restaurant.” Garrus comments as he scrolls through the official information packet they’d received with the invitation that came a few hours after Ashley and Liara’s call.  
“I noticed.” Shepard replies, digging through boxes for her various decorations. “Do you think Hackett will care if I don’t wear every medal I’ve ever been awarded?”  
“At this thing? I’d wager yes.” Garrus let out a laugh. “He’s probably gone through service history on all of us just to make sure.” He stifles another laugh as Shepard lets out a deep groan and simply up-ends the box on the coffee table.

“Why don’t you have this much decoration?” Shepard grumbles; now painstakingly threading her less notable medals onto a display bar for the front of her uniform. “You’re about fifth from the Primarch’s seat at this point Garrus, why do I have more medals?!” Her Turian gives a self-deprecating laugh.  
“I have just as much awkwardness as you Shepard trust me, it’s just slightly differently placed.” he goes back to shining his armour, glossy pitch-black onyx accented with bright reds and deep purples that Shepard thinks signifies the fact that he technically heads up the Blackwatch task force in charge of mitigating the Reaper threat.  
“You can’t have this much fuss.” She mutters. Garrus cocks his head and marginally raises a brow plate.  
“Is that so? I don’t see you having to fuss with a cape.”

“You have a cape?” Shepard questions, punctuated by an “Ah-hah!” when she finally finds the box containing her Star of Terra.  
“Sadly, yes, I have to deal with a cape. Three actually.” Garrus finishes polishing his right pauldron with a layer of protective gloss and picks up his chest-plate. “See this?” He points out an odd protrusion on the upper left of the chest at the collar that Shepard has never seen on regular battle-worn Turian armour. She nods and he continues. “My Ex eo Hierarchia goes here. It’s the clasp on the three layers of cloaks.”  
“Where’s these capes then?” Shepard asks as Garrus starts on his chest plate.  
“Still in the box.” He replies. “I didn’t want to get them out until I’d finished with this mess.” He indicates the mass of armour strewn all around him. “I can show you though.” He sets the chestplate down again and pulls up an image on his omni-tool.

Shepard puts down her Star of Terra and temporarily abandons her search for the triple-award collar she’s required to wear it with in order to examine the image Garrus is showing her.  
“So this is the Ex eo Hierarchia.” He points a talon to the glittering twelve-pointed star clasped to the General in the picture. “Literally, it means ‘Order of the Hierarchy’, you can’t be promoted to a high leadership position without one.”  
“How do you get one?” Shepard asks, and is treated to the rare sight of Garrus actually blushing a tiny bit as a faint blue flush creeps up his neck.

“It’s awarded for actions of exceptional conduct that prove capability to command men exceptionally in the field.” Shepard nods, a grin growing on her face.  
“And the citation on yours is…?” She lets the words hang in the air until Garrus answers.  
“Serving with distinction as Combat XO under Commander Shepard on the SSV Normandy and displaying leadership skills with a gallant respect for men under my command in multiple units of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance training.” He mutters. Shepard’s grin turns into a genuine smile.  
“Be proud Garrus, you earned that.” His mandibles flutter in the Turian equivalent of an abashed grin for a second before Shepard takes pity on her bondmate and turns the attention back to the image on his omni-tool.  
“So why does he only have one cape?” Her finger traces the line of the looping cream-coloured fabric that goes from the star-shaped medal into a tight clasp at the General’s left pauldron and then continues into a majestic full cloak that hangs from the back of his cowl armour.

“The cream cloak is awarded at the rank of General.” Garrus explains, growing slightly more comfortable explaining deeper military history. “It’s trimmed in blue, because that’s the colour of his legion, the 18th. I have a plain cream one as the base layer, and over top of that I have another black one. That’s because my task force was technically Blackwatch, special forces are considered above regular command, so I’m not a General; I’m a Legate. The black shows that I’m a high level commanding officer within Blackwatch, that’s their colour. Finally there’s a red one on top of that. When the Reaper task force was created that was the colour I chose.”

Shepard nods and absorbs all this information.  
“So why the purple on the armour?” She asks.  
“Standard Blackwatch commanding officer armour colours.”  
“I see, why weren’t you wearing this when I got to you on Menae?” Garrus shrugs. “Didn’t have a set that was combat ready, they knocked the ceremonial stuff out first, and while it would work in battle since it is full functioning armour…” he trails off and Shepard finishes the thought for him.  
“It’s just not practical.”  
“Exactly.” Garrus nods. “But I don’t have it that bad compared to the Primarch.”

With a quick swipe of his talon the image on his omni-tool slides over and another takes its place, depicting a Turian waving to a crowd in mirror-shined golden armour with platinum accents and wearing what by Shepard’s count is a cape with no fewer than twelve progressively more elaborate layers in every colour of the rainbow and quite a few more.  
“Jesus Garrus.” She breathes; “Please never get a promotion.”  
“I’m not planning on it.” He laughs, going back to shining his armour. “But I’ve shown you mine, now I think it’s only fair if you tell me about yours.” He sweeps a talon across the glittering metal icons that cover their coffee table and Shepard heaves a deep sigh.

“Ok.” She starts, showing him the shoulder pads of her Dress Jacket. “We display rank with these, bars and bar colours. I have three and they’re black, that means I’m a Commander. If I were a captain, it would go to four bars. Above that is Rear Admiral, one gold bar, then Vice Admiral gets four gold bars. A full Admiral has four golden bars and this section.” She indicates the outermost space between bars. “Would be brown instead of black. Good so far?” Garrus nods to show he’s following and Shepard continues.

“Medals are normally not shown on regular fatigues, but on dress uniforms you wear them in bars on the right side since the clasps are on the left.” She indicates where on her dress jacket and shows him a loaded bar with all sorts of silverware hanging off it. “This is where it gets awkward. In most formal cases you display regular medals like tour awards as ribbons, they’re not too important. So you take a bunch of these strips,” she holds up a triple coloured rectangle as an example, “and you simply wear as many rows of those as you need, then your most important ones, like my N7 commendation, Spectre achievement, and Palladium Star as full medals. The Star of Terra is a little different but I’ll get back to that. This is a super flashy dinner though, so I need to find every damn medal from my boot camp graduation to my Star and wear them in full.”

She flips open the box that holds her Star of Terra and shows him the ribbon it rests on. “Ordinarily this would be worn under the collar on a ribbon. But I’ve received it three times, meaning I need a special ribbon with two markers on it plus the medal; and I just can’t find the damn thing!” Shepard throws up her hands in dismay and Garrus gives a soft trill of sympathy.

“So how did you get a triple award?” Garrus asks. She sighs.  
“First Star was the Skyllian Blitz, rallying the colonists against the invaders and holding the line there. Second was a retro-active award for the battle of the Citadel, awarded at the same time as the third, which was in the hospital on Earth after they pulled me out of the rubble. Probably unsurprising that I got a third for that.” She shrugs. “Ash has a lot of the same medals I do, there’s going to be a lot of metal in that restaurant.” She grimaces. “And I’ll need to find my damn hat.”

Garrus’ mandibles flutter as he laughs.  
“Best get to it then Shepard. Based on this mess we both have a lot of work to do.”


	3. Military Banquets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stuffy formal party arrives, but it may not be as bad as it seemed on paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't lie I'm really not 100% happy with this. It took far too long to get written and it doesn't feel great. I'll probably touch it up later but I wanted to get it done. I hope it's not as bad as it seems to me, and I have no doubt I'll get a lot of unfavourable comments if it is. I do hope someone enjoys. I promise I'll do better with the next one. Writing social interaction is why I started this and practice is kicking my teeth in.

The restaurant that Hackett and the rest of the Alliance brass have set up as the venue for the celebratory function is one of the priciest on the Citadel. Set on the Presidium directly in the middle of one of the most lavish and expensive places to own any kind of property, the first thing that Shepard notices about the place is that they’ve really gone all out for this event.

She and Garrus are greeted at the entrance by a member of staff in a suit so immaculately pressed and tailored that she half suspects it’s sewn right onto the man’s skin, they are guided down halls; past multiple private dining rooms each the size of a ball-room and then shown into the grandest of them all. If this place was damaged in the Reaper war then it doesn’t show, there is an immaculate fresco-painted ceiling, columns on the walls made of what looks like real marble surround a hall containing four or five immaculately polished tables of beautifully stained dark mahogany.

The two Alliance guards on duty at the door snap to perfect attention as Shepard and Garrus enter and she fights the urge to salute back. Gripping her bondmate’s hand just a touch more tightly instead as he guides her to their table.

They’re not the first to arrive, they’re joined at their own table by Joker, looking tremendously uncomfortable in his dress blues but with his rows of medals still prominently and proudly displayed. Next to him sits Edi with immaculate posture in a freshly pressed and newly sewn set of dress blues that display the bare minimum in terms of silverware, service medals for the Reaper war and a single insignia for the engineering corps; and next to her sits Liara in some strange looping and layered mess of fabric roughly resembling a dress that Shepard assumes must be the absolute height of Asari fashion.

“We’re still early.” She notes as Garrus releases her hand and they both sit down. Edi nods.  
“You are the fifth and sixth to arrive. Dr. T’Soni and Lieutenant Commander Williams arrived shortly after Jeff and I did.”  
“And where is LT Williams.” Shepard asks, turning to Liara.  
“She is as uncomfortable in full uniform as Joker.” Liara replies smoothly, not missing a beat. “I think she stepped out to get some air. She’s not at our table anyway.”  
“That’s unfortunate,” Shepard mutters, “I was hoping I’d get to needle her a bit.”  
“Needle her about what Commander?” Joker jumps into the conversation like a shark smelling blood at the first hint of a weakness to tease someone over.  
“I believe that the Commander wishes to tease the Lieutenant Commander over her newly started relationship with Dr T’Soni.” Edi states, promptly.

Three sets of eyes all point in Liara’s direction and she blushes just a tiny bit.  
“I was hoping to keep that quiet; Edi.”  
“I apologise Dr. T’Soni, I was unaware that you intended such.”  
“How come Shepard gets to know?” Joker cries, crossing his arms with a huff. Liara’s eyes roll so hard that Shepard legitimately gets worried they might fall out.  
“Shepard can keep her mouth shut Flight Lieutenant Moreau.” Joker grumbles at the mention of his title.  
“Come on, don’t bring rank into this, it’s bad enough we all have to wear this get-up without having to be called ‘Flight Lieutenant Moreau’ all night.”  
“I think you look quite dashing Jeff.”  
“Thanks Edi, I guess it’s not all bad.”

Liara’s glare softens into a soft smile.  
“It’s quite nice to see everyone dressed up every so often. Especially you two.” She looks at Shepard and Garrus. “You clean up exceedingly well. I wasn’t aware you’d even bothered to pick up your ceremonial armour Garrus.”  
“Not really my thing.” The Turian in question shifts in his chair, slightly nervous. “It was just ready before my field set.”  
“Well I think you both look fantastic.” Liara turns her attention to Shepard. “I thought Ashley had a lot of medals but wow.”  
“Yeah,” Shepard sighed, “I don’t have this much silverware by choice.”  
“I don’t envy you Commander.” Joker laughs. “If I had that many medals my legs would break from the weight.”

The table devolves into small talk, the pressure of the uptight setting falling away as the old friends enjoy the banter; up until Liara’s eyes catch someone coming down the hall.  
“Did you happen to glance at the invite list Shepard?” She asks, a sly grin sliding over her face.  
“Not too closely, why?” Shepard turns in her chair and her mouth literally falls open at the sight of Jack in actual formal alliance dress uniform walking through the doors escorting a perfectly poised and graceful Miranda on her arm. Through their laced fingers Shepard feels Garrus’ subharmonics run that gamut from shock to surprise to amusement to worry to anticipation before settling on that sort of anticipatory laughter that makes him purr like a large cat while his mandibles flutter ever so slightly in rapid bursts.

“Jack wears actual clothes?” The words are out of Joker’s mouth as Shepard is thinking them and at a much louder volume. Jack’s head snaps towards him and Shepard hears Joker actually squeak in fear before a cool look from Miranda freezes all hostility and she and Jack make their way to their table without incident.  
“If looks could kill.” Garrus mutters with a wry set to his mandibles and a hum of barely controlled amusement in his voice. Joker swallows heavily.  
“I think I preferred it when they were spending all their energy at each-other’s throats.”  
“I think they probably still are.” Liara snickers and Shepard joins in.  
“Oh God.” Joker presses his hands to his eyes in mock terror. “I didn’t want that mental image.”  
“You expect me to believe that ‘Mr. Seven Zetrabytes.” Shepard raises a single eyebrow and Joker shivers.  
“Nah man, even I don’t touch the kinda stuff Miranda is into, I mean have you seen what she’s wearing?”

It is, Shepard has to admit; an especially… striking get-up. Criss-crossing lines over the torso that reveal a lot of skin and highlight every single curve on Miranda’s very deliberately engineered figure to perfection, along with a nearly scandalous slit up the right leg that ends in a gem-encrusted clasp before it splits again to reveal the skin of MIranda’s ribs.  
“No wonder that Jack’s minding her behaviour if she gets to look at that all night. But maybe she’s just hoping to avoid the whip and the outright torture.” Joker’s attitude returns despite his brush with imminent death a few minutes ago and Shepard rolls her eyes.  
“Why don’t you ask Miranda to show you what’s underneath, I’m sure she and Jack will let you join in if you’re a good boy.”  
“No way.” Joker pales even at the thought. “I’m delicate, she’d break me in half.”  
“Who, Jack for asking or Miranda when you joined in?” Garrus gives a snarky quip and Joker shakes his head.  
“Nope, I am strictly a one-A.I.-man.” 

“Well that’s good to hear isn’t it.” Liara turns to Edi with a sly grin and stage-whispers a follow-up remark. “I’d learn how to handle a whip in case he gets any ideas.” Edi cocks her head slightly and Shepard realises what’s coming a heartbeat before it exits the A.I. 's mouth.  
“I am already proficient in most forms of whip combat Dr. T’Soni, this body is exceedingly flexible.”  
“Oh Spirits.” She mutters as Garrus lets loose a few quiet snickers before losing his battle with laughter as Liara giggles demurely behind her hand. Joker pats Edi’s hand with a grimace.  
“You’ll get the hang of double entendres one day babe. I believe in you.”

Their merriment and Joker’s embarrassment are cut short as a large group containing Tali, Traynor, Vega, and most of the rest of the Normandy's crew enters the hall. Shepard is somewhat relieved to notice that neither of the Krogan in her life are present, though that doesn’t last long when she realises something crucial, an obvious fact which does not escape Liara’s notice either.

“No mask.” The Asari whispers; all previous amusement forgotten as they all gaze upon Tali’s face for the first time.  
“How is that possible?” Garrus’ subvocals hum with confusion and even with her eyes fixed to Tali’s un-masked face Shepard knows her bondmate’s head is cocked to the side in that confused-Turian motion that she finds so adorable.  
“She told me about this after Rannoch,” Shepard whispers to him in the silence of the hall, “some of the Geth upload into Quarian suits and kick-start their immune systems. They can simulate infections without giving even the remnants contained in vaccines.”

The large group takes their seats at the remaining tables and then the doors open and every guest rises from their respective seats and every Alliance soldier in the room both on duty and there as a guest snaps off a razor-sharp salute as Admiral Hackett walks into the hall, accompanied by Ashley Williams and a couple of the most senior officers in the Alliance Navy, including Hannah Shepard.  
“So that’s where you went.” Shepard hears Liara mutter next to her, eyes fixed on Ashley. The second human Spectre’s eyes soften into a non-verbal ‘sorry’ as she walks past her lover and escorts the Alliance brass to their table at the head of the room. 

Dinner itself went fairly smoothly. The food as expected from such an establishment was exceptional, and Shepard couldn’t find the company wanting in any way. But there was a thought niggling at the back of her mind, something seeming just a tiny bit out of place. It nagged at her all through dinner, until the plates were cleared away and Hackett stood up, clearly ready for public address.  
“Oh God and Spirits there’s a speech.” She grumbles, sinking back into her chair as Garrus’ hand curls around hers and she feels his subharmonics hum.  
“You didn’t see a speech coming?” Liara asks quietly as Hackett begins to speak.  
“I had blind hope.” Shepard grunts.

Hackett’s speech is everything Shepard dislikes about long-winded military speeches no matter the place they’re given. Be on a parade ground addressing a whole battalion, on communicator addressing an entire battle cluster, or in a fancy restaurant while she’s bombarded with her accomplishments as a soldier from all sides. It doesn’t sit well with her to have the immense sacrifices that her crew made contribute to her own personal success, and she resolves to do something about it as soon as possible.

Hackett’s speech even exceeds Garrus’ expectations for long-windedness. Turian speeches have a reputation for that sort of thing, all full of duty and pride for the imperium with Die For The Cause blaring triumphantly as the commanding officer rallies his or her troops, serving under Shepard (‘in more than one way’ a part of his mind supplies with a Turian smirk), had led him to believe that Humans were better about this sort of thing. Her speeches were short when she gave them and always to the point. Evidently she was the exception rather than the rule.

Hannah Shepard has long grown used to her daughter being the centre of the Alliance’s attention. She loves it, she couldn’t be more proud of the woman her little girl has become, the same little Jane who grew up gawking at starship engine cores and proudly learning every little thing she could around the CIC’s of warships has become the single most decorated soldier in the Alliance, the Commander Shepard who stopped a galaxy-wide Reaper invasion millions of years in the making and didn’t even let death get in the way of her goal. But Hannah can tell how uncomfortable her daughter is with Hackett’s unending praise smothering her, so she decides to grant as much reprieve as she can to her ailing daughter.

Once Hackett comes to a natural lul in his speech Hannah rises smoothly and taps his wrist.  
“If the Admiral would be so kind, I’d like to say a few words myself about my daughter.”  
“Of course.” Hackett sits and gracefully ceeds the floor to her. Admiral Shepard looks out on the assembled crew of the Normandy and hopes that her daughter’s affinity for words has some basis in her.

“When my daughter was young, I remember how much she dreamed of commanding her own starship some day.” Across the room, Hannah sees her daughter’s face begin to grow red as she sinks back into her seat and realises that she can both save her daughter from military mortification and indulge in the special kind of embarrassment that only a parent can deliver. “I still have pictures of her in my command seat at a twelve years old, of her in fresh uniform straight out of boot camp.” She smiles wistfully and watches Garrus Vakarian perk up just a tiny bit at the mention of pictures of a younger Commander Shepard; she’ll have to indulge him later.

Hannah does her best to shift the focus of the praise from solely on her daughter to the crew and the ship, throwing in as many anecdotes about little Jane Shepard as she reasonably can but eventually she winds her speech down, closing with one last anecdote about her little girl’s first attempt to disassemble her mother’s auto-rifle that has most of the room suppressing laughs in an attempt to keep the serious military tone of the banquet intact.

Everyone leaves the restaurant feeling happier than they went in, except for Shepard who is desperately attempting to resist the urge to smack half of her crew and her mother around the head for all the stories and can’t decide who deserves it more.


	4. Café Interludes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and Solana meet for a cup of tea and a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so so so so sorry that this took so long to get done, other obligations have been kicking my teeth in one after another. I hope this is a good enough chapter to make up even though it isn't particularly long.

When Garrus wakes up the day after the fanciest banquet he can remember ever attending, the bed feels unusually empty. He grumbles as he levers himself out of the squishy Turian mattress, heading through to the kitchen, but his plates click softly into a frown and a worried buzz hums through his subharmonics when there’s no Shepard to be found there either. He takes a moment to scan the apartment for a note, if Shepard was just going for a walk she’d leave a note. But there’s no scrap of paper on the kitchen table, no datapad open to a notes app. He pulls up his omnitool, worry lancing through his subharmonics; and scrolls to Shepard’s contact info.

“Where are you?” he texts her. Forcing himself through the motions of making his morning breakfast and drink while he waits for a signal. His omnitool lights up as he’s taking a bite, his fingers fumble open a call from Shepard and he sighs with relief around his breakfast.  
“Sol called by, just out having a nice lunch.” Garrus studies the time on his omnitool and realises it is in fact after midday. How had he slept in so late?  
“Did you try to wake me up when Sol stopped by?” He asks in-between bites of cereal.  
“Tried. Failed. You were dead to the world.”  
“Guess my body is finally catching up on that sleep I missed during the Omega holdout.” Garrus mumbles, taking another bite of his breakfast roll of cold meats. “Tell Sol I say hi, I’ll see you later.”

Shepard hangs up the call with a smile and turns back to her sister in law.  
“Your brother says hi.”  
“I’m glad he’s finally awake.” Solana says with fluttering mandibles and her subharmonics purring an amused rhythm. “It’s so rare for him to sleep in so completely I was almost worried.”  
Shepard hums an agreement. “He said he was making up for all the sleep he lost in his Omega holdout, can’t begrudge him that.”  
“Certainly can’t.” Solana agrees, though with a muted edge to her voice that Shepard knows means there’s more to the topic. “Did you know he called me, during that hold?”  
“I didn’t.” Shepard muses. “I’m sorry Sol; I didn't mean to bring it up.”  
“No it’s okay.” Solana makes a placating gesture with her hands. “I just wondered if you knew how bad a way he was in until you showed up.”  
“I had some idea.” Shepard takes a sip of her tea. “He never told me the full story though, and I’ve never gotten around to asking.”

\-----

Garrus’ rifle slams into his armoured shoulder, the joint, even with years of experience with the kick of a rifle, is starting to protest the continued abuse under these conditions but he swallows the pain like an expert. His shot flies true and another merc drops, a brutal hole through his thin armour punching muscle fibres and bloodied bone fragments out of his back as he falls. Garrus shifts his rifle mechanically, backing away from his scope just to the perfect distance to widen his field of view; and then slamming another round into another merc with pinpoint accuracy as he re-scopes in the blink of an eye and re-finds his target. The spent clip ejects from his rifle with a sigh and then tinkles to the ground, still smoking.

He’s thankful his aim is this good, he really is. Were he a lesser marksman he’d have run out of ammunition days ago, and it’s only his ability to land eighty or ninety consecutive hits in a row that’s kept him breathing. That and his dwindling supply of stims of course. His next shot misses as his vision swims alarmingly and he groans, fighting the tiredness with willpower to glance at the stat in the top of his visor. He’s already walking a very very narrow tightrope for stim usage. His blood toxicity has already doubled the recommended maximum and he’s dangerously close to instantly lethal. But every hour that passes needs the stims more. He triggers another hit and feels the adrenaline rush down his spinal column, snapping off three quick shots in a row that land precisely where he wants them to, but the adrenaline high that follows he fights all the way up and down. The words of his marksman instructor ringing white-hot in his head.  
“Good snipers have ice for veins Vakarian. We do not. Ride. Adrenaline. Highs.”

“Sir yes sir.” Garrus mutters. Reinforcing his stance and slowing his shot patterns. Wringing the maximum use out of his stim-riddled nervous system and his thermal clips. But soon enough both are gone and the firefight wears on. It’s only when the pile of spent thermal clips reaches his ankles and he’s fighting the adrenaline-drained shaking of his fingers on will-power and the memory of Shepard alone that he takes a deep breath and calls his sister.

“Garrus?” Sol’s voice is a balm to his overworked nerves. “Do you even know how long it’s been since I heard from you? Why on Palaven are you calling now?”  
“Sol.” He silences her with one word, the gravitas in his voice and harmonics enough to quell the impending rant.  
“What’s wrong little brother?” She’s worried, and he sighs. Despite their differences, this is not something he ever wished he’d put his sister through.  
“I’m low on clips and stims. I’m in a hole. I’m not coming out of it.” There, it’s in the open now. Sol knows what kind of call this is. He hears her swallow on the other end of the line and briefly indicate that she needs to take an emergency call to her co-worker.  
“I’m here.” She tells him, iron in her voice. “I’m not leaving until it’s time.”

Garrus lets out a shaky breath and allows his hands to take over his firing pattern without conscious thought.  
“I’m going to miss you big sister.”  
“Not as much as I’ll miss my little brother.” She counters. “How long have you got?”  
“Don’t know.” Garrus answers as another over-loaded clip leaves his rifle as a smoking melted ruin. “I’m making the cost dear, but I doubt I last much longer.” He hears Sol moving on the other end of the line and surmises she’s going somewhere quiet. He’s genuinely surprised when she starts reading to him. It’s something she did when they were children, five year-old Garrus being read to sleep by the combined efforts of his mother and sister.

It’s the tale of Artemisia. The most legendary sharp-shooter in Turian history, an ancient archer of legend whose bow pierced the sky with such ferocity that the stars themselves were pierced as pinpricks of light in the foundation that was the heavens. It’s an old, old, old tale. From back when the Turians had Gods instead of the Spirits to guide them. Garrus zones out, lost in his sister’s voice as he keeps firing and firing. He’s about to pull the trigger on a new soldier when he sees an N7 symbol and his heart breaks and knits back together in record time.

“Sol.” He croaks; interrupting her before she gets to the end, where the archer ascends to the stars having been proven worthy of a seat among the Gods due to superlative marksmanship.  
“Yes?” She sounds resigned and he surprises himself with how much his heart is lifted just by that N7 insignia.  
“Change of plans. I’ll be seeing you soon.”

\-----

“I know Chakwas said he was on a lot of stims but I didn’t realise just how much.” Shepard mutters. Her hands tighten around her cup of tea and the porcelain actually creaks under the strain before she sets it down and gazes out along the beautiful vista their little café table overlooks. She remembers meeting Liara here during the war, taking a few precious minutes to themselves amid the horror and desolation of the Reaper invasion. It’s mostly rebuilt now; a beautiful seamless rise into the sky and a shimmering sapphire ribbon of water winding its way along between banks of gorgeous trees and grassy banks. There’s only a few patches of regrowing foliage that even give away the state the station was in before it was towed back away from Earth orbit.

“I don’t think I ever thanked you for saving him.” Solana says earnestly, cupping her warm drink close.  
“You don’t need to thank me for that.” Shepard shakes her head. “Saving him wasn’t a choice, without Garrus, there would be no Commander Shepard. I’m incomplete without him.”  
“I know you could have chosen to leave him there. Garrus told me you had no reason to suspect that he was Archangel.”  
“I did know it was him!” Shepard protests with a smile. “It’s a very Garrus thing to do,” her face falls a touch, “even if I didn’t realise quite how… extreme he ended up after my death.”  
“He was in love with you even back then.” Solana comments sagely.  
“I was in love with him.” Shepard replies, thinking back to her times on the SR1 with a blissful smile.

\-----

It’s her last time making the rounds today, all the crew checked in on, and Shepard is in the cargo bay, spending time with her favourite Turian. She’s already been down to see Garrus five times, but she just can’t stay away, the combination of the sterling conversation and the voice that gets stuck in Shepard’s head like an earworm that never gets old have her addicted to her spot by the mako like a junkie.

Garrus is under the vehicle when she walks up to it, tinkering with something presumably, but he hears her approach and knocks a foot against her ankle in greeting when she walks up.  
“How can I help you, commander?”  
“Maybe I can help you?” Shepard offers, crouching down on her haunches to try and peek at what he’s working on.  
“Well you did do that damage so perhaps that would be fair.” Garrus grunts. “But speaking frankly Shepard if your style of technical maintenance is anything like your driving I dread to think about the state this tank will end up in.”  
“I’m capable of holding a wrench Vakarian.” Shepard rolls her eyes even though he can’t see it and grabs a pair of tools, heading inside the Mako to pull up a floor panel or two.

“Hi.” She chirps at Garrus once she finds him, having pulled up a central floor panel in the mako and found the spot he’s working on, some melted plating from their excursion on Therum has splashed up and welded some suspension linkage in the central wheels, shearing three bolts when she tried to turn and the linkage couldn’t cooperate.  
“Hello.” Comes the dry, dual-toned response. “I appreciate your work commander.” He indicates the melted and flash-welded metal that once was several useful parts.  
“Gotta give you something to do around here Garrus.” Shepard grins and slips a pry-tool into some stuck fragments. “Otherwise you’d have nothing to fix and what would you do then? Hang around and calibrate the main guns?”  
“In a couple of years after Saren is stopped perhaps I will.” Garrus challenges as he strips a stabilising bar so warped it’s barely recognisable away from it’s housing and replaces it with a gleaming new one. “I’ve heard whispers from Thanix that a new product is coming soon.”

Shepard leans further into the hole in the floor and her forehead brushes his.  
“Don’t make a girl a promise like that Garrus. Or I might expect you to stick around and be in the main gun for a couple more years.” When no snarky response is forthcoming immediately, Shepard turns to her erstwhile Turian to see what he’s struggling with.

To her surprise he’s looking right at her, almost cross-eyed as he tries to look at where their foreheads just touched. Shepard wants to say something, anything, ask what’s wrong, but before she can Joker pings her about an ‘urgent’ matter, so she drops the tools next to Garrus’ head with an apologetic smile and dashes off to put out another fire of Saren’s making.

\-----

“That’s so adorable.” Solana coos as she finishes relating the tale.  
“I don’t know if he even remembers it.” Shepard grins.  
“I’d imagine he does.” Solana’s mandibles flutter excitedly in mirth. “My brother has always been a sap about that sort of thing. You should remind him of it, his first kiss with you stolen by an unaware human.” She giggles.  
“Well it’s a good metaphor for our relationship I suppose.” Shepard muses, a smirk plastered across her face. “Accidentally incredible, the Shepard-Vakarian story.”  
“That is absolutely the title for your auto-biography.” Solana adds, and both of them descend into giggles.

It’s nice, Shepard thinks as she walks home later, to take some time to just be herself, now that she doesn't have to be Commander Shepard all the time anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know it's canon that Castis is who Garrus calls up during his last stand, but I wanted to change just this minor detail because the scene popped into my head and didn't leave me be. I hope it's okay.


	5. Party Planning and Battle Strategy: Not So Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard charges Liara and Ashley with planning the Normandy crew's party, but the post war shore leave may have more in common with their previous stay on the Citadel than some would hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to god this is okay, I don't have a beta and I have less time nowadays so I have to knock these out in one go, I hope it's not terrible and that people still enjoy it. The rating will also increase with this chapter. Figured that we had to start the mystery somehow and it would be nice to show Ashley in her more natural environment.

“I love your hair so much I wish I had some of my own.” Liara confesses, fingers carding through Ashley’s long silken black locks, the Spectre gives a pleased sigh.  
“Evidently.” She murmurs, barely audible, as Liara pulls her gently downwards and back into bed, pulling her sheets up over them both as she moves to straddle Ashley and continues to play with her hair.  
“I’m pretty sure we have to get up at some point today.” Ashley dead-pans; hands resting lightly on blue hips.  
“I don’t think so…” Liara trails off, hands coming away to check her omni-tool for any changes to their schedule.

“No?” Ashley decides to turn the tables and swivels Liara around in her lap, massaging the Asari’s scalp and drinking in the pleased sigh she gets in response. But to her disappointment, Liara starts to pull away.  
“We do actually need to get up as it turns out.”  
“We do?” Ashley wraps her strong arms around LIara’s thin waist and pulls her back into her body. “On what account?”  
“Shepard would like us to plan a party.” Liara holds her omni-tool up so that Ashley can read the message over her shoulder.

“Been out for lunch with Sol, heading back home now. Would you and Ash like to plan the party for my new apartment Liara? The same as our last shore-leave, just a few more guests.” Ashley reads off with a sigh. She hugs Liara a touch tighter. “We can spare a half an hour, can’t we?”  
“Why Spectre Williams.” Liara purrs, turning in her arms. “I can spare however much time you’ll give me.”

\-----

By the time Shepard has gotten home, Garrus is dressed and feeling like himself. With nothing else to do, they resume their task from a few nights ago, sat in the living room as life on the Citadel rushes by the windows, busily constructing the few massive model space stations and ships that Shepard hadn’t gotten through in her single nightly blitz.  
“So this is Arcturus station?” Garrus asks, watching as Shepard’s deft fingers construct a central circular hub and move on to the fiendishly complex panelling of the two outer arms.  
“Yup.” Shepard hums. “Site of my N7 graduation.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever told me about that.” Garrus muses, mandibles set in a confused slack. “I think I remember reading something about the training though.”  
“Oh yeah?” Shepard turns her attention to him more fully and lets her fingers go through the motions. “I’m curious, what do the Turians know about the N program.”  
“Not much.” Garrus confesses. “I only skimmed some official listings a while back. Something about an asteroid?”  
“Ah.” Shepard grins. “I’m pretty proud of that one.”

\-----

Liara trails a few steps behind Ashley as the Spectre weaves her way through a densely crowded shopping district, following her footsteps closely as her girlfriend finds a somehow smooth path through the endless throng of shoppers. Is that correct though, she wonders? Is Ashley her girlfriend? True these terms mean different things to humans and Asari, but even by the looser human definition of the term she’s not really sure. She and Ashley have been seeing each other for a little while now, long enough that the Spectre keeps a spare toothbrush and basic utensils at Liara’s apartment, and stays over more nights than not. But still, she wonders if it’s right of her to refer to Ashley as a girlfriend when she doesn’t know what the human is really interested in. She’s about to broach the topic carefully when Ashley stops, grabs her hand, and pulls her gently into a store.

“Is this a party-” Liara starts, not recognising any of the things in this store as essentials for a social gathering, but Ashley’s loops a tight arm around her waist and keeps them both walking.  
“We’re being followed.” She mutters, warm breath ghosting over Liara’s cheek. “Are you armed?”

Liara swallows.  
“No.” She whispers. “But I have biotics.”  
“Then you’ll stay behind me if we have to engage.” Ashley whispers, and despite the rather urgent situation they find themselves in Liara can barely keep her thoughts on task with Ashley’s lithe muscled figure pressed against her back through civilian clothes.  
“Will you be okay?” Liara hums. “I have a biotic barrier at least.”  
“I’ll be fine, these clothes are kevlar woven, and unlike you, I’m carrying.” The human gives a thoughtful hum next to her ear and Liara can only marvel at the preparedness of her Spectre.

They end up milling about through several stores, Ashley’s iron grip on her waist never relaxes until they actually make it to the store they need, buying the party supplies Shepard does need and heading out; taking a more circuitous route back to Liara’s apartment.  
“Should we be moving this way?” The Asari asks, head ducked into Ashley’s neck as they appear every inch the loving couple, moving towards lesser populated back streets. Ashley’s jaw moves against her head and Liara is reminded that for all her combat experience, the second human Spectre has her far out-classed.  
“Five. Three tailing, two on longer watch to not lose us in crowds and provide long support if they engage. They know how dangerous we are, this isn’t an elaborate mugging operation. One Asari two humans close, Salarian and Turian on long range. I want our immediate tail gone. Close littered alley.”

They enter a deserted alleyway and Liara finds herself pushed against a wall, shopping dangling listlessly from one hand as Ashley claims her lips and her hands rove over Liara’s body.  
“Keep your wits.” Ashley mouths against her lips before claiming her tongue and Liara tries very hard not to let the human short-circuit her brain.  
“Do be careful.” She whispers as Ashley’s lips move to her neck and her ear comes right next to Liara’s mouth.

Ashley tenses as she keeps LIara pinned against the wall. Her lips move along the blue neck on muscle memory. Teeth nipping at responsive flesh while her ears strain for the footsteps. She hears three sets close; presses a deep kiss to Liara’s lips, and shifts fully into a combat mindset right as a hand grasps her shoulder and the muzzle of a gun jabs into her back.  
“You don’t have us fooled Spectre Williams. Come quietly.” Ashley lets the adrenaline flood her system; spinning left and knocking the gun away with her leading forearm, throwing a jab into the man’s throat while her right hand draws one of her three concealed pistols.

She drops, putting her momentum into a sweep kick aimed at the shins of the Asari as she snaps off three bullets into the gasping male clutching at his throat. A shouted curse from a female Turian voice filters down the alley along with the sound of a rifle being stowed. That’s her window. Ashley straightens, the Asari has a barrier, so she rushes the other human she hasn’t shot yet and unloads half a thermal clip into his gut. The light armour under his civvies doesn’t stand up to close range gunfire and he collapses, red spilling from his stomach. Ashley holster’s her spent pistol; the Predator’s thermal clip hissing from the side and landing with a clink in the rapidly pooling blood at her feet as it goes back into her waist-band, hissing in the vital fluid.

Next up is her suppressed M11, she blocks a biotically charged punch from the Asari, fist coated in dark energy that slams into Ashley’s crossed forearms and heats the kevlar-woven hoodie up to an unbearable degree for a split second before Ashley throws a haymaker and pulls the M11 with her non-dominant hand, stitching a quick four shots up the Asari’s chest and into her unprotected neck. The three immediate threats dealt with Ashley takes stock of her situation. Liara is smartly in cover, safe as can be. The Asari is gasping for breath around the holes in her throat and both humans are bleeding out. She catches the sound of an assault rifle starting to spin up and ducks into cover as high calibre rounds start to stitch the area now that she’s given the Turian on long support a corridor for free fire.

Ashley hands Liara her suppressed M11, eyes steely, and then pulls her concealed M77 from it’s holster. The powerful pistol’s magazine glimmers a full clip at her in the dull light and Ashley counts the bullets coming from the rifle carefully while listening to the sound. It has the distinctive report of a Phaeston, meaning the Turian is ex military, that means three options. Stock, regulation mods, or black market mods. Between the pistol she can see still gripped in one of the human’s hands and the fact that the Turian hasn’t stopped firing she guesses black market. Once the count reaches ninety eight Ashley vaults over cover, weapon brandished, ignoring the blazing pain in her burnt forearms. She doesn’t hesitate, pistol shouting like rolling thunder as Spectre-calibre rounds punch through the Turian’s armour, shredding tissue and shattering carapace.

The Turian collapses and Ashley points her pistol at the glittering sniper scope she can see with a Salarian head behind it at the far end of the alley. She channels her inner Shepard and smoothly pulls the trigger. Sending one round smashing through centre mass that pulverises the delicate Salarian bone structure and causes the sniper to drop from his perch with a dull thud, rifle clattering to the ground with him.

She takes stock quickly, no further assailants. Her omni-tool comes up at her request and opens a Spectre-priority channel to C-Sec and every other Spectre in the immediate area.  
“Live fire exchanged at these coordinates, Spectre Williams reporting, clean-up crews required. Telemetry on request. No friendly casualties. Moving to a secure location.” She gathers up Liara and they make their way quickly to the other end of the Alley. Where Ashley calls Shepard.

“Williams, report.” Shepard orders immediately as she picks up the call. Ashley fills her in.  
“That’s odd.” Shepard mutters, thinking it over, then she straightens. “Your call on where we go Ash, they attacked you, but you’re my crew. I’ll back you all the way.” Ashley hums over the line.  
“I saw no evidence of what they were after, but they knew what they were doing, I think we let C-Sec and any more active duty Spectres investigate for now, we have a party to plan, and there’s no reason to drag the crew to readiness after a potentially isolated attack.”  
“Solid logic Ash. Why don’t you two drop by, you can drop off the stuff and relax somewhere safe after a firefight.” Ashley looks to Liara, who nods.

“We’ll see you soon, Shepard.” The Asari says, looping her arm through Ashley’s elbow and starting to walk back to the main streets. The human goes to close the call, but Liara grabs her arm gently, causing the Spectre to hiss in pain as even Liara’s gentle grip agitates her blistered skin. “Can you grab us some medi-gel please Shepard?” Liara asks sweetly. “Ashley forgot to mention her own injury.”  
“I’m fine. I’ve had worse.” Ashley huffs, Liara rolls her eyes and she can almost hear Shepard doing so on the other end of the call.  
“It’ll be waiting for you.” Shepard promises; disconnecting the call as Liara gently releases Ashley’s arm and cuddles up to her side, transferring the shopping bag to her other arm.

Once they’re back in the wards and Ashley has taken a call from a Turian Spectre who assures her that they’re running a full sweep and they’ll keep her clued in to the details, Liara feels her start to relax.  
“You were amazing back there you know.” She says, looping her arm around Ashley’s waist and pulling her close despite her shorter stature.  
“It’s what I’m trained for.” Ashley gives a non-committal shrug with her free shoulder so as not to dislodge Liara.  
“Even so.” The Asari takes a few seconds to just enjoy the feeling of the wall of combat-trained muscle she spent most of the morning cuddling with as they walk down the street.

Eventually, once they’ve made it to a quieter area, Liara decides it’s better to be out with it than to let her quandary fester in her brain.  
“Ash, can I ask what we are? It doesn’t seem like we’re in ‘mutual fun’ territory anymore, I can’t help feeling like we skipped a step.” Ashley looks at her, confusion written plain as day across her face.  
“Are we not official? I didn’t think it needed to be said, I’m sorry if I made you feel like we were-.” She stops her sentence short and wrings her hands, then flinches as her blistering forearms contact the hoodie she’s wearing.

LIara relaxes her hold on the Spectre’s waist as the other woman ever so carefully rolls up the sleeves on her hoodie, exposing burned and blistered skin that covers her arms from wrist to elbow. Liara sucks in a breath through her teeth on seeing the damage.  
“That looks painful.”  
“It’ll be fine once I get some medi-gel on it.” Ashley shakes her head. “In answer to your question though, I know what I’d like to be, but what do you want?”

Liara takes a moment to seriously consider that question. The old Liara certainly would have just jumped into Ashley’s arms, but instead she forces herself to consider the future. How the world looks to her with Ashley in or or without Ashley in it, and there’s no context.  
“I’ll take you if you’ll have me?” She asks, a smile shy on her lips that quickly turns into a complete grin as Ashley’s fingers lace with hers.  
“Of course, I’d have to be crazy to say no to that.”

\-----

Shepard is just finishing off the last remnant of her Arcturus station project when their doorbell chimes. She grabs the medi-gel as she stands, opening the door and taking in the state of Ashley’s arm that’s raised to knock.  
“Jesus Ash what the hell did you do?” The other Spectre has the wherewithal to look at least a little sheepish.  
“Had to block a biotic hit. Didn’t have armour.”  
“You couldn’t dodge?” Shepard mutters, guiding Ashley (and her attached Asari) to the kitchen to administer some much needed medical care.  
“No room to dodge.” Ashley mutters as she unzips her hoodie and throws it over the back of the chair.

While Shepard is busy slathering copious amounts of medi-gel on Ashley’s nearly ruined forearms, Liara makes herself at home as she has every time she’s visited, taking a trip around the apartment to bask in Shepard’s ludicrous model ship collection. She’s just studying the Destiny Ascension and the Mass Relay beneath the stairs when Garrus comes ambling down to the lower floor. Liara greets him with a smile and goes back to studying the fiendishly complex models before her, simply turning her ears towards the conversation in the kitchen.

Shepard looks up when Garrus walks in and smiles, Ashley greets the Turian with a wave of the hand that isn’t currently indisposed by her commander’s vice grip on her arm.  
“Jesus Williams.” Garrus stops short of the cupboard he was heading towards for a warm cup of calidum-ius. Instead diverting his focus to Ashley’s raised arm. “You’re more messed up than my face.”  
“Ha ha ha.” Ashley dead-pans, flipping Garrus the bird.  
“How did you manage that? I had to eat a rocket.”  
“Blocked a biotic punch.” Ashley shrugs and Garrus emits a surprised trill.  
“With your bare arms? I’m surprised they’re still attached.” Ashley shakes her head.  
“Not bare arms.” She reaches around, grimacing as her blistered skin pulls and stretches, and throws her hoodie to Garrus.  
“It’s kevlar woven fabric, only reason my arms are, as you put it, ‘still attached’.” Garrus examines the fabric closely, marvelling at it’s construction, then folds it as cleanly as he can with talons and places it carefully on the table.  
“You are one tough soldier Williams.” He reaches into the fridge and pulls out a levo beer. “I think that deserves a drink.”

Ashley accepts and gladly toasts Garrus’ own drink when Shepard releases her arm and moves onto the other one.  
“Drink Shepard?” Garrus asks as the woman in question makes sure to apply proper layers of medi-gel to all of Ashley’s injuries. Shepard looks at the clock and cocks her head in thought.  
“Ah why not, she finishes applying the gel and washes her hands; accepting a bottle from Garrus and toasting Ashley.

“You do need to keep an eye on those burns though Ash.” Shepard warns. “There’s limits to what medi-gel can do.”  
“If they’re having trouble healing I’ll go and see Chakwas, I do need to be able to wear my uniform for the tour.”

When Liara eventually joins them in the kitchen, Shepard finally gets to the bag they brought in with them.  
“This is everything we need?”  
“Mostly the same as last time.” Liara answers with a smile. “Drinks, some extra utensils, just that sort of thing.”  
“So all I really need to do is send out the invites?” Shepard asks as she takes a drink. Liara nods.  
“That’s all you need to do.”  
“Excellent.” Shepard pulls up her omni-tool. “Let’s see who’s free to come.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope the dialogue is okay, Garrus has really specific crooning speech patterns I tried to stick to them as closely as I could but I am very far from being the best writer in the world so I'm very sure it's not as good as it probably could or should be. Shepard also has strange speech patterns (I assume as a consequence of such a labyrinthine conversation system), she refers to people by name a lot and I find it hard to write but hey, practice. C&C very welcome. If you read their lines in their voices then A: like me you've played far too much Mass Effect and B: I have hopefully succeeded a little bit.


End file.
